The Adventure of the Curse of Two
by KaizokuShojo
Summary: Dr. John H. Watson reveals yet another mystifiying case with the master consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. This time, two twins come to seek help concerning a gipsy-warned curse hanging over the family. Now complete!
1. The Gipsy's Warning

**The Adventure of the Curse of Two**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes; that hono__ur is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's._

**KS:**** Hello, everyone! This is my very first Sherlockian fanfiction, and it's been written for a few months now. I haven't really done much on it, though. I sort of started several story ideas at once, and didn't continue on any of them because I haven't had the time. But now I think I'll have the time to at least start posting ONE of them...**

**I apologise for the formatting...I can never seem to get to do indentions. XD**

**I do hope you enjoy it, though. :D**

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**S**herlock Holmes was reclined on the sofa when I returned from my morning errands, a look of utmost languor on his face. He did not acknowledge me as I entered, and by his appearance I surmised that he was under the effects of the cocaine once again. It was no small wonder, either, since there had been no cases to come to his attention for well over two weeks, and there had been no interesting stories in the papers for him to mull over in his mind to keep himself occupied.

Giving a small sigh of disapproval, I went over to the basket-chair and sat, resting my tired leg on a cushion nearby.

I thought for a moment that I should perhaps reprimand my companion again for doing such a thing to himself, even though past attempts at doing so proved fruitless. Holmes, however, broke into my thoughts with a light chuckle.

"My dear Watson," said he with a smile as he continued to gaze up half-lidded at the ceiling, "I am sorry I've caused you a small grief for no reason. I am not, as you suppose, on the drug today. No, I was just thinking about a case that has been brought to me."

Holmes held up a paper that had been previously hidden on his other side.

"I received it this morning while you were out, and have been thinking about it since. You may look at it if you like." he said, tossing it to me. I took it and read it out loud, and this is what it said:

"Dear Mr. Holmes,--

A ra**t**her bogey problem has come **t**o me

in the pas**t** few weeks, and I am a**t** a

loss wha**t** **t**o do about i**t**. Miss Bonne**t**,

whom you've helped and may remember,

was kind enough **t**o refer me **t**o you and

**t**old me of how skilled you were, so I

ask if you would help me. I will come

at 2 o'clock Tuesday af**t**ernoon, along

wi**t**h my bro**t**her, and will give

**t**he de**t**ails **t**hen. --Signed

William Cha**tt**er**t**on"

I passed the paper back to my friend, who folded it and placed it back at his side.

"It's very plain." I said. "I could hardly see what you could take from it that would give you reason to think."

Holmes nodded slightly, reaching up to the rack for his pipe. "There is little to be gotten from it, indeed. But, there were a few instructive things. First of all, Watson, this letter was obviously typewritten, and the typewriter used had a particular for making the 'T's too bold. But, that is of no significance whatsoever in light of the situation. If we were looking for the man who wrote it, it would be of enormous importance, but here we already know who it is. Now, you surely notice the black smudge in the upper right corner and on the back in two places. A similar smudge appears on the envelope in the same corner, and on the address, for the envelope was written by hand."

"But what on earth could that tell?" I asked. Holmes had lit his pipe and took a short time to take a puff or two from it before answering.

"It is useful in a few ways. Again, if we were looking for the author, we might have a few good thumb-marks to go by. In our current situation, though, we look at it another way--it means that the letter was made before the envelope, and the man's thumb got into the ink of the address before it was dry. He put the letter into the envelope before the ink on his thumb had dried, and indeed before he cleaned it off himself."

"Which means that he must have been in somewhat of a hurry." I concluded.

"Precisely so," confirmed my companion. He held the envelope up, studying it yet again.

"I can see that he's a man of _some_ learning by his handwriting, but cares more for appearances--which is also noted in the paper, for it and envelope are of an expensive sort. Venetian, I believe...which tells us that Mr. Chatterton is well-to-do, or else he wouldn't send such a brief letter on such stationary, and certainly not if he was going to be so careless with it."

"That makes enough sense." I remarked. Holmes nodded, but looked unenthused.

"Yes, but, of the case itself I can say nothing other than it involves Mr. Chatterton's brother as well. Facts must be had before conclusions."

I looked at my watch. "It's nearly two o'clock now." I said. "They will be arriving any minute."

Holmes rose from the sofa and walked over to the window.

"If I'm not mistaken," he said, "These should be our visitors."

Two men, indeed, were crossing the street towards our door, and in a moment I heard the bell ring several times.

"Hum!" Holmes muttered at hearing the rate at which the bell rang, "They seem anxious."

The landlady admitted them and we heard two sets of feet ascending the stair, and our door swung open with no more than one knock and not even so much time for Holmes to bid them enter.

The two men from the street stepped in, both dressed in the same smart fashion and both wearing the same, nervous expressions. Holmes looked them over quickly, as was his way, and he gestured to two chairs ready and waiting for them.

"It certainly is a good thing that your brother has that moustache, Mr. William Chatterton," Holmes began, "because that makes it much easier to tell you apart, since you're practically identical in every way."

The one marked as William started at Holmes' words.

"Mr. Holmes, I do not believe I mentioned our appearances in the letter--"

"You did not."

"--So how came you to know which of us was who?"

Holmes smiled knowingly. "You wrote the letter, did you not? You have yet to clear all the ink from your thumb from where it fell onto the address. You didn't mention that you were twins, so I had to identify which man was the one that contacted me."

The two brothers looked at each other incredulously for a moment, thinking about the simplicity yet perceptiveness of my companion's remark.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable, and spare no details when telling your story." Holmes said in his welcoming manner. The two nodded and sat in the chairs, removing their hard felt hats and fingering them in their hands, anxious to begin their tale.

Holmes stepped over to the arm chair and sat, stretching his legs out and placing his fingertips together, as was his wont when listening to a client. He stared at his guests with half-open eyes, waiting for them to state their problem.

William, who was seated on the left, began his story: "Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for seeing us; I hope that in some way you will be able to clear up our unfortunate problem. I am William Chatterton, and this is my brother, Charles." he said, waving a hand slightly toward the man on the right, who nodded his head slightly in greeting.

William continued: "We are, as you said, twins, and that is really where our trouble lies." He paused to take a breath before he continued, and the timing of the pause added a thick touch of drama to the air.

"Our grandfather, Richard Chatterton, was a very superstitious man. He believed in spirits, faeries, witches, and every other thing that could come from a man's fancy. He also was in the habit of going to the gipsies at least once a year, especially at the beginning, to have his fortune read. One year he had travelled a good way from home just to find a band which he thought was 'spirited,' and had his palm read by an old and withered gipsy crone. The message she gave him was the most foreboding he ever received, and it drove into his mind and nearly made him mad.

"The message was this: 'Beware the curse of the twins! It is then your family will fall.'--After that day, our grandfather was said to not take anything in pairs, not even his own shoes. He also made it a point to investigate every woman my father showed any interest to in order to make sure that twins didn't run in her family. Our father, though, eventually started courting our mother. Grandfather wasn't able to properly investigate her, for she had been orphaned and raised by a wealthy bank owner and so knew nothing of her family, so he forbade our father to marry her. But father married her anyways, and when we were born and he found that we were twins he fell off into a state of shock that sent him to his grave.

"While on his dying bed, he became even more convinced that the gipsy had been right, but he also fervently stated that his death wouldn't be the fulfilment of the prediction--that the whole family would fall in the end because of my father's mistake. None of family paid him any mind, however, and after his death and mourning they went on living just as they always had. We've lived all our lives without as much as an unpleasant incident since that day.

"In fact, we've been rather more blessed than some as opposed to cursed. Our father inherited our grandfather's money at his death--which was a decent sum from his earlier, harder-working years--and our mother received quite a fortune from her own adopted father when he died, since she was his only daughter. That has left us with good education, a good home, and good lives in general. Both of us, in fact, stand to inherit a fair sum when our father dies. So you see, Mr. Holmes, why we sought help as soon as it seemed that the curse was indeed real."

Holmes' eyes shone with interest, though his face remained still. My own interest in the matter was piqued, and I leaned forward in my chair so I would not miss a word.

The young William looked down at the floor, turning his hat in his hands, as his brother sat beside him and listened closely to confirm what he said was right.

"Pray continue." Holmes ushered. William nodded.

"Well, two weeks ago one of our servant girls, Mary, died unexpectedly. No foul play was expected, since there were no marks or appearances of it, so we laid her to rest without thinking about it much. The same day she passed our best hunting dog died as well. We found that odd at first, but he was an old hound, so we wrote it off as simply coincidence. Nothing happened for the rest of that week, except everyone in the household complained of having a feeling of 'ill will,' as one maid called it. We had no suspicions of anything amiss whatsoever until this week. Mr. Holmes, we've had four servants die in the past six days, each of them two at a time."

"Two at a time?" I gasped, sitting even more forward in my chair.

"So, you believe that this prediction of a curse has something to do with it?" Holmes asked.

"We're not _completely _certain, of course..." Charles replied. "The police have been of very little help; they can figure nothing from it. That's why we've come to you, Mr. Holmes."

"So you've already contacted the police?" Holmes asked. "When?"

"Right after the first two servants died--six days ago." William answered.

"So, they've already seen the victims and the house, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Who is on the case?"

"A Mr. Stanley Hopkins, I believe."

Holmes thought a moment. "It seems like a very interesting problem, indeed." he remarked. "We shall have to travel to your home in order to discover what's causing all of this, of course."

William and Charles nodded quickly. "Yes, of course, Mr. Holmes. Thank you very much!" William stood. "We have a cab waiting outside, if you wish to join us in it."

Holmes stood, and I did as well. "I will come along with you, and so will my associate Dr. Watson—he has proved invaluable to me in cases in the past." said my friend. "Wait for us in the cab, and we shall be right down."

The two brothers nodded, thanking Holmes yet again, and went downstairs.

Holmes went straightway to his room to change and re-emerged soon after, fit for travel and rubbing his long, thin hands together in anticipation.

"Come, Watson." he said, his eyes shining. "There's work to be done."


	2. To the House

**The Adventure of the Curse of Two**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes; that honour is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's estate--well, some of it's pretty free-domain, but whatever. XD_

**KS: Hullo there, everyone. Welcome to chapter the second of **_**The Adventure of the Curse of Two.**_** I'm very glad that you're interested enough to continue reading!**

**A quick note about this story: I have absolutely no idea how London was made up in Victorian times. I don't know which street goes where...XD**

**I asked an English friend of mine if she knew--she grew up in London--and she didn't, either, so I have to be fairly vague in locations. I only know a little bit about counties, a little tiny bit about London, etc. I have a very good eye for the canon, and can remember all sorts of little trifling things, but I have yet to find a really good, informative map of Victorian England...XD **

**I'm sorry if the chapter seems a little odd--I'm quite tired while I'm writing this.**

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**I** had to pack a small bag to take along, for Holmes informed me we might possibly be gone for a day or two. So, it was a few minutes before we rejoined the Chattertons on the street below. 

We got into the cab and set off immediately to the brother's home.

Holmes was surprisingly talkative after finding that young Charles was a cellist and that William--though not a musician--had a taste for music. That conversation and the ones that branched from it took up a large part of the ride, Holmes of course not missing an opportunity to discuss his favourite composers, pieces, and even getting into a slight debate over the merit of German composers.

We reached the Chatterton house in a time that was much longer than it seemed, and disembarked from our cab. The house wasn't opulently showy, but had a repressed sort of dignity about it. Despite its light refined charm, I found myself deeply impressed by the story of death and mystery surrounding it. Five people and a hound were dead already at the hands of whatever evil presence that was haunting this place, be it man or otherwise.

I saw Holmes studying the outside with his keen, grey eyes. His mind, I knew, was prepared to take in every detail and unravel this case. He turned quickly and stiffly to young Charles.

"The bodies, I expect, have already been to the coroner?"

"Yes, sir," Charles replied. "None of them have had any marks of violence, just as the first two did not. No trace of poison, either."

Holmes's brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes for a moment had that far away look, but it soon cleared and he turned to the other brother.

"I would like to see Mr. Hopkins now." said Holmes.

"Of course, right this way, Mr. Holmes." William said, walking toward the house.

As we entered, I was immediately struck by what the one maid described as an ill feeling. The boy that met us as we entered looked pale and jumpy, as did the maid that took our hats.

"How many servants have you in the house, counting the deceased?"

"Nine. There were four maids, the cook, the butler, the boy, and two stable boys. Three maids, the cook, and the butler have died."

"And Samuel." said the boy timidly.

"Samuel? The dog?" Holmes asked. The boy nodded. Holmes patted the boy's shoulder sympathetically, looked at the maid, who was sobbing quietly, and turned his attention to the Chattertons again. "I will want to interview the remaining servants later." said he.

William nodded. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. Annie, is Mr. Stanley Hopkins still here? The Scotland Yard Inspector?"

The maid nodded, wiping the few fat tears from her eyes with a handkerchief she had pulled from her apron pocket. "Yes, sir. He's just 'round back. He's checking the scene for traces, he says."

Holmes let a small chuckle. "He's an energetic lad." he said. "Come, Watson. Mr. Chatterton, if you would please lead the way."

As we made our way through the house, Holmes looked around with the most intense concentration. I didn't know if he saw any clues, but as we stepped out of the house into a small, well-kept garden, his face softened slightly.

"Ah, Hopkins! Have you made anything of the case as of yet?" he cried.

The young inspector straightened up and turned quickly to face my companion, the surprise written on his face quickly was replaced by a smile of recognition.

"Mr. Holmes!" he said cordially, making his way carefully across the yard. "It's a pleasure to see you here, indeed!" The younger detective looked upon my friend as a student would look upon his master. "No, sir, I haven't made anything of it yet, but I'm sure I shall get it soon."

"What have you done so far?" Holmes asked.

"Well, sir, I've heard both the Chatterton's stories, the coroner's reports, and I've searched the house--though I'm sure you'll still want to see the rooms where the dead were found. Just now I was searching the yard for footsteps, thinking I might find some from when the dog was killed, since the area around where the dogs are kept is perfect for leaving traces."

"But it has rained a good deal since then." added Charles.

"Unfortunately, due to that, I can only make out a very vague imprint here and there." said Hopkins.

"So how many dogs are there?" Holmes asked.

"There were two--one is left."

Holmes nodded, and walked without a word to where Hopkins had been examining the ground. He laid low, drawing out his magnifying lens and studying the traces as well as he could. All the while, the dog barked furiously from inside his kennel. Holmes stood, having satisfied himself, and put away his lens.

"Mr. Chatterton, I'd like to see the servants now, please."

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**KS: I hope you enjoyed it! I think this story is going to be a lot shorter than I thought...XD**

**But I'll try to give it some really nice spice coming up soon:D**


	3. Search to the Bottom

**The Adventure of the Curse of Two**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes; that honour is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's estate--well, some of it's pretty free-domain, but whatever. XD_

**KS: Halloa! Welcome to chapter the third of **_**The Adventure of the Curse of Two.**_** My thanks to everyone that has read, and even more to everyone that has thought enough to review! I'm also very glad that some of you seem to like my Victorian English--I didn't even know it was worth noting. XD**

**Now, I'm sure **_**everyone**_** who is familiar with A.C.D. and his Holmes stories knows that there are a lot of errors in the canon. Well, as I was reading the two chapters I have already posted, I saw little Doyle-like errors. XD**

**I don't mind at all having the little ones, because having little canon-like errors makes it seem more authentic. But if anyone ever sees any glaring errors--a major fault in my English, etc., don't fail to let me know in a review. **

**Please, enjoy the new chapter:D**

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**We** were now gathered in the drawing-room. Holmes was seated in a high-backed armchair in the centre, Stanley Hopkins was on his left, the two Chattertons on his right, and I was to their right. Before us were the remaining servants: a maid, the boy, and two fine young stable lads.

It was very quiet for the first minute or two as Holmes looked over each of them, his face as calm as if it were set in granite and the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.

"Did you hear anything the night of the first deaths, two weeks ago?" Holmes asked.

Each of the servants looked thoughtful, and gradually, each of them shook their head.

"No, Mr. Holmes. I didn't hear anything." the older stable lad said earnestly. The others murmured the same.

"Nothing has been amiss? Nothing, save that 'ill feeling' described?"

"No, sir." The maid said.

"What were the dates of each set of deaths?"

"I have that, Mr. Holmes." said Stanley Hopkins. "I inquired about it as soon as I arrived." He held out a small, red notebook, already turned to the right page. Holmes took it in his long, thin hands and ran his eyes over the notes. After he was through, he passed it back to Hopkins and turned his keen eyes back on the servants.

"Who has been cooking your supper since the cook's death? I see that she was one of the second pair to die."

"Annie the maid has been doing it, Mr. Holmes." Charles replied. "And a fine enough job of it, too."

"Nothing to complain about then? You haven't noticed anything odd about the foods have you, Annie?"

The young woman shook her head. "No, sir. Nothing at all."

"Well, that settles that. It's obvious your diets haven't suffered." Holmes said, his eyes growing a bit distant as he thought. He stood up quickly. "Come, I believe I'd like to have a look at the deceased's rooms."

"Of course, right this way, Mr. Holmes." said William as he, his brother, and Hopkins stood. Charles dismissed the servants, and William guided us to the back wing of the house, where the maids slept.

"So, Mr. Holmes, have you found anything helpful which may help you to untangle this dreadful net that is around us?" William asked hopefully as we walked.

Holmes, I could tell, had been thinking, but pulled himself out of his thoughts to reply.

"I believe that the truth isn't too far away, Mr. Chatterton. But I cannot give any hopes until I have seen the rooms."

We reached the door of the first maid's chambers, and as Hopkins reached to open the door, Holmes turned quickly around to face the Chatterton brothers.

"Please, if you don't mind, I would like to investigate these rooms without interference. As I understand, Inspector Hopkins has already seen the rooms, so he can keep you company out here as Watson and I continue our investigations."

He swiftly opened the door and ushered me inside. He followed, closing the door behind himself and rubbing his long, thin hands together in excitement.

"Now, Watson," he said, his eyes shining, "We shall get down to the very heart of the matter."

Indicating for me to go to the side so I would be out of the way, he stepped forward, his sharp eyes taking in absolutely every detail of the room. His nostrils flared, and his long, sinewy form was filled with a repressed, highly concentrated, nervous energy as I have seen in no other man.

He whipped out his lens and fell to the floor, examining a few light marks on the boards, and then stood again. He crossed directly over to the bureau and checked the maid's hairbrush and other personal items. He sat them down impatiently and moved over to the bed. He lifted the skirting and looked at the side of the mattress casually. As he did so, I saw his face grow even more intense. In an instant he tore off the bedclothes knelt down beside it, and, beginning at the foot of the bed, he began to slowly examine the entire mattress through his lens.

I watched carefully as he did so, but failed to see what he was doing. About a little over halfway to the top he stopped, tossed his lens aside, and pushed down on the bed with both hands close together excitedly.

"Halloa!" he ejaculated softly. "Watson, look!"

I stepped over and stared at the place his eyes were focused so intently on. "I fail to see anything, Holmes."

In reply, Holmes pushed lightly with his fingernail at a small, almost unnoticeable red thorn sticking up from within the mattress. My own brow furrowed. I cannot claim to be as quick a man as Holmes, but even this discovery didn't completely escape me.

"Holmes...is it...?"

Holmes slowly nodded as he pulled the object from the bed in the most careful fashion. He stood, holding the thorn warily between his forefinger and thumb, and slowly paced the room as he stared at it. He suddenly stopped, and turned toward me, his eyes remaining on the thorn.

"I shall want your help to-night, Watson."

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**KS: Thanks for reading! I really do wish that would let me keep the formatting I've used on this--I've done a nice little job of using a perfect font, spacing, etc. (In the future, I even plan to print it out, double-columned, proper font, justified, and possibly even with added illustrations by myself, just for the sake of having it. xD )**

**But, I digress. I don't think this chapter turned out well. But I think I will salvage it with the next one. xD**


	4. Getting Ready

**The Adventure of the Curse of Two**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes; that honour is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's estate--well, some of it's pretty free-domain, but whatever. XD_

**KS: Welcome to the fourth chapter of **_**The Adventure of the Curse of Two. **_**I'm glad you're enjoying it so far enough to continue reading! I would have had this posted yesterday, but as many of you probably know, yesterday (2-5-08) tornadoes ripped through the Southeastern U.S., causing major devastation. I live very close to a place that sustained quite a lot of damage, so I was up and nervous, watching and waiting, most of yesterday. If you're a praying person, pray for the families who lost their homes and loved ones.**

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**"This** goes deep, indeed, Watson." He looked at it for a second more, and replaced it in the bed, putting it back in with the point downwards. He then took the bedclothes and remade the bed, making them exactly as they had been. 

He stepped toward the door and motioned me to follow. We stepped out, and Stanley Hopkins was still out there, along with the Chatterton brothers.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of it?" Hopkins asked.

"Did you see the footprints on the floor?" my friend asked in response.

"I did, Mr. Holmes, but they're rather vague. I should think they're from the same pair of boots that caused the footprints outside at the kennel."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "Well, Mr. Chatterton, I think I've seen enough. It is a dark, difficult problem, and I shall have to think about it. For now, I think it would be best if my friend Watson and I found a hotel to retire to to-night."

"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes," said Charles, "You and the doctor may stay here if you like."

"No, I believe it would be best if I were absent from the scene of action for a few hours." My friend replied casually.

"Well, we hope you get to the bottom of this soon," young William said. "I'm beginning to fear for my skin more than what's natural, and not knowing what the cause of all of this is certainly does not help."

The two brothers led us and the Scotland Yard inspector back to the front door of the house. Along the way we passed a side door.

"Where does that door lead?" My friend asked.

"That is the side entrance to the servants' chambers. It goes outside." William replied.

As we passed it, my friend looked at it with great concentration, and I wondered what thoughts were going through his mind.

We had made our way to a hotel not too far away from the Chatterton's home and acquired a small, two-bedded room. Holmes quickly stripped down to his shirt and trousers, changed into his blue dressing-gown, and sat down upon his bed, cross-legged like a Turk. He looked thoughtful as he took up his black clay pipe.

"We are up against a very clever, very evil mind, Watson." He said as he filled his pipe with his strong black shag tobacco.

"I cannot see, however, how young Hopkins failed to recognise all of the extremely obvious and important clues."

"I know I'm rather dense," said I, "but I cannot see how you even knew to look for that thorn, let alone what you mean by other clues."

Holmes sat silently for a moment, smoking his pipe with a very intense look of concentration upon his face.

"It is simple enough—only a case for instruction, not one to challenge the mind. But I must exhaust other possibilities, and be careful about my plans. There have been many similar cases—indeed, too many to count. But this one is quite bold, and rather clever. I think that I must rely upon that boldness to draw my net about the criminal."

"You know who it is, then?"

"I believe so, but I can't be certain yet. That is why you must come with me to-night, for the next murder."

"My dear Holmes!" I ejaculated. "The next one is to-night? Shouldn't you have warned the household?"

"Oh, it may not even be to-night. But it will be soon. I think that I can catch them before the next tragedy. We must catch the fiend in the act to know. I would suggest that you get a few hours' sleep, for it may be a long night ahead of us."

I took his advice and tried to rest, but it was indeed difficult, for the thought of the task that lay before me repeated itself in my head. To-night, according to my friend, the two Chattertons and their few remaining servants would again be in great danger. What was the cause of that danger was more than I could tell. I know that I had seen everything he had seen—save for the small red book of interviews Hopkins had shown him.

As I fell asleep, I remember seeing my friend's concentrated face, with his dark brows drawn low and his keen eyes unfocused and staring into the corner.

With the thoughts and concerns for the night on my mind I did not sleep heavily, and a few hours had passed before I knew it.

Holmes gently shook me awake, and I saw that our rooms were rather smokier than I remembered them when I had fallen asleep.

As I got up, he bustled out of his dressing-gown and into a dark grey suit. He grabbed a heavy stick, and I saw him put his cloth pouch of safe-cracking tools and jemmies into his coat pocket. He then looked out the window, and at his watch.

"Come, Watson." He said. "And pray bring your revolver."

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**KS: Thanks for reading, don't forget to review! I'm sorry if it was short, but I did this mostly during class, and I like to cut off a chapter with a cliff hanger sort of ending. :D**

**I have a few ideas for S.H. fanfictions, so when this done, there should be more. **

**(I have one quite silly idea listed in my "Story ideas" section of my profile…I may not do that one. XD )**


	5. The Game is Up

**The Adventure of the Curse of Two**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes; that honour is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's estate--well, some of it's pretty free-domain, but whatever. XD_

**KS: Welcome to the fifth chapter of **_**The Adventure of the Curse of Two**_**. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far as to continue reading! Please, don't forget to review at the end!**

**I'm sorry if this fic seems a little short; I was really hoping for it to be longer. But, unfortunately, I've made it **_**far**_** too easy for Mr. Holmes to solve. XD**

**The next mystery should be longer...well, really that depends on which I post next. I might let you choose once this one is concluded. :D**

**Enjoy!**

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**We** walked quietly along the foggy, gas-lit streets, the task ahead of us weighing sombrely on our minds.

It was a cool, damp night, and we had our great-coats on in defence of the chill. We were not in a cab, though our destination was some distance away. Holmes had said that we had best walk.

I felt that it was a bold person, indeed, that would murder so many, especially since they were possibly going to risk killing more to-night, when the police were so deep into the matter.

Soon we were at the Chatterton's home, and Holmes gazed up at the windows—one or two were lit on the ground floor, and just one on the first. He looked back at me and without a word motioned me to follow.

He slipped through the darkness as silently as a jungle cat and made his way to a side entrance.

"This," he said in a low whisper to explain my unasked question, "is the servant's entrance." He listened for a moment, and then pulled out the pouch of tools he had brought along and proceeded to break into the house.

I was nervous—as I always was when my friend decided to break the law for justice's sake—and kept a sharp eye out for danger.

I heard a soft click, and Holmes suddenly rose. I had thought that he had succeeded in unlocking the door, but even in the light I could discern the pallor and surprise on his features. He quickly grabbed my arm and dragged me after himself into the deepest, darkest of the shadows. No sooner than we had moved did the side door open and out stepped a dark figure.

The person looked one way and the other before walking away from us toward the back of the house. We hadn't been spotted. Holmes jumped up without hesitation and began to follow, keeping close to the shadows of the side of the house.

We watched as the figure moved through the dim light toward the dog kennel, and drew close as the person stooped low. We were close enough now that I could see that it was a man, and that they had a small phial of something and was about to pour its contents into the water dish of the remaining dog, who had approached and was happily wagging its tail.

"Mr. Charles Chatterton," Holmes said firmly. The man addressed stood quickly and spun around in utter surprise. There was a dull glint of light in the darkness.

"Holmes!" I gasped. I pulled out my revolver and fired, and so did Charles.

The latter fell to the ground with a shout, and my friend leapt forward like a tiger and tore the gun from his hands.

"Holmes!" I gasped again. "You aren't hurt?"

My friend stood, eyeing the gun now in his hand. "No, it missed, thankfully. I cannot say the same for Mr. Chatterton here. Your aim and timing were impeccable, Watson."

I knelt beside the injured man and saw I had shot him in the leg—not too serious of a wound, but it would need to be treated immediately.

The din of the two shots had roused the house, and by now the other brother and the servants were now running over to where we were.

"Mr. Holmes!" said the brother William, "What is all this—Charles! Charles! Why, you're hurt!"

Holmes looked down upon the wounded man. "Mr. Chatterton, I regret to inform you that your brother is the murderer. In fact, he was just about to kill your other hound, and I have no doubt that eventually you would have fallen victim as well."

William looked incredulously at his brother. "Charles! Tell me he's not serious!"

Charles looked up with a scowl at Holmes. "It's a lie—pure rubbish!"

"We'll see about that, Mr. Chatterton." Holmes said. He turned to the stable boys. "Help Dr. Watson to take him inside."

After we went inside and got the criminal Charles settled on the sofa, we left the stable boys and maid to watch him as Holmes was led to his room by William.

When inside, my friend immediately set to searching. With his extreme perceptiveness and intuition he quickly discovered a small box, concealed under a floor board, and he pried open the locked lid with his pocket knife. Both William and I looked inside and saw a large collection of the same red thorns that Holmes had found earlier in the dead maid's bed.

"What are they, Mr. Holmes?" William asked.

"These are the death weapons," Holmes replied thoughtfully. "We found one earlier in the maid's bed. They are poisoned, but it is an exotic poison—apparently undetectable by current autopsy."

He closed the box.

"Mr. Chatterton, if you will follow me into the sitting-room, I shall clear this up for you."

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**KS: There! Did you guess who it was beforehand? I told you it was too easy! xDD**

**Stay tuned for the **_**denouement**_


	6. Denouement

**The Adventure of the Curse of Two**

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Sherlock Holmes stories, nor do I have any affiliation with anyone that does or ever did. xD**_

**KS: Thank you for reading so far! I'm glad you're enjoying it! Here, at last, is the finale, the **_**denouement.**_** I hope it's clear. :D**

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**S**herlock Holmes sat in the sitting-room of the Chatterton's home, his long thin legs crossed and his elbows resting on the arm-rests of the high-backed chair.

I was on his right, and William, looking quite saddened and puzzled by the discovery of his brother's guilt, was on his right. Charles was before us on the sofa, his leg wrapped in blood-stained bandages.

"It really was a simple case." Said my friend. "I knew before I left Baker-Street who it was—all that was left was to discover how he was escaping detection."

"But, did you _know_ it was him, Mr. Holmes? I…I just can't believe it!" said William.

"I was fairly certain of the fact. For one thing, he was not the one to contact me, but you, and I knew that in all likelihood it was one of you, though it could have been a relative. You see, Mr. Chatterton, your brother was trying to get you out of the way so that _he_ would inherit all of your family's money—isn't that right, Mr. Charles?"

Charles Chatterton glared at Holmes devilishly, but Holmes was unaffected.

"He was wondering how to go about doing it when a very ingenious idea struck him, given by extraordinary chance in that singular legend in your family. He would kill off the household, two at a time, and place the blame on some evil curse or something of that nature. It would be much more obscure than just killing you and your father and inheriting money, which would raise definite suspicion. When you told me that no trace of poison or violence had been found, I knew I must look for a more exotic method of murder. As I walked through the house, I noted that at least one of you had travelled by the relics on the walls, and kept the possibility of a tropical poison in my mind. When after questioning the servants I found that the food seemed no different, I knew that it was probably not poisoned, so then the idea of an object delivering the poison was developed. Then there is the matter of the dog. I suppose you noticed, Watson, that the dog barked furiously at me, a stranger, when I was near his kennel to study the marks? But when I questioned the servants, they had heard no such riotous barking, which indicated that I was right in my theory that one of the brothers—someone the dogs knew very well—had committed the deed. Mr. Chatterton had started with the lowest servant to make sure the poison worked properly, and dosing the dog with poison was a stroke of ingenuity—the dog wouldn't be autopsied, so he was free to use a normal poison, and if the dog died and the servant didn't, no one would question it. I also saw by the vague marks that the boots worn by the culprit was similar to Charles'—though that still didn't omit the other brother. But, I found Charles a more likely suspect, especially as he seemed remarkably sharp and bold—able to conjure an idea of this sort and see it through."

Charles Chatterton was sweating profusely now, and his face was severely flushed.

"I did it….yes, I did it. But you'll never hang _me_ for it!" he stammered.

He raised the phial we had seen him with earlier to his lips, and Holmes started toward him to prevent him from taking it, but William got there first and tore it from his trembling hands.

"I'm not about to see you take the coward's way out, brother!" said he as he threw away the glass. "You've stained this family's name enough! I'll see you have your trial, like a man."

Later that evening, warm and safe in our rooms in Baker-Street, we sat before the fire, talking and smoking a pipe.

"I don't believe that there are many more common crimes than murder or fraud to inherit money." Said my friend as we sat.

"But, what of the red book? What did you see in that?" I asked.

"Nothing much. I saw the cook had died early, and I saw the hours of the servants, which would tell me the times Mr. Chatterton would take his risks and plant the thorns."

"That is something else—how did you know of the thorns?"

"I have already mentioned that, after coming to the conclusion that it was likely not the food that was poisoned, that it must have been an object. As I looked at the bed the thought struck me that all the deaths occurred in the night—while they were asleep. So the object that delivered the poison could very well be in the bed. If so, it would have to be a very small object, so that is what I searched for." My friend sat for a minute in silence, blue rings of smoke rising from his pipe.

"It was obvious from the start that it wasn't really a curse—as a rule, I think, the powers of darkness do not so openly meddle in the affairs of men. I had to see who benefited the most from these deaths. The answer was obvious. Whoever was killing knew of this strange family legend, was very close and free in the family, and the sons, by their own admittance, stood to inherit a small fortune from their father's death."

"It's so exceedingly simple, I cannot see how I didn't grasp it from the first." Said I.

Holmes nodded. "Everything is simple when it is explained."

And that is the end of the singular adventure of the Curse of Two. Charles Chatterton was condemned to death after his trial and was hung, and William Chatterton, devastated at first of his brother's death, recovered, and after he inherited his money, invested it wisely and started a school for boys in the West End, which has met with considerable success.

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**KS: And there is the end! I hope you enjoyed it! I had a good bit of difficulty in typing out the explanation—like Holmes said in STUD, it's difficult to explain **_**how**_** you know something, even though you know it, like explaining how you know 2 plus 2 equals 4. xD**

**Like Holmes said, it was exceedingly simple. I knew Holmes already had the case solved, essentially, but when he heard about the dog, I knew that I couldn't stretch this case out very far. XD**

**The next story to be up from me will probably be "The Turn of Sherlock Holmes," but possibly not. Thank you for reading! **


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